


Undone

by pkmntrainer_alex



Category: One Piece
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, For Science!, Gen, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Insomnia, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Medication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pkmntrainer_alex/pseuds/pkmntrainer_alex
Summary: After the entire family almost dies at WCI, Judge Vinsmoke orders the removal of his sons' emotional modifications in a bid to save his own skin in future endeavors. He doesn't stop to consider the ramifications of his 21-year-old sons finally, suddenly, being able to feel their human emotions in full - and their newfound ability to judge both themselves and him by their past actions.
Comments: 91
Kudos: 235





	1. Assurance

**Author's Note:**

> \- Hi. It's me again. Sorry.  
> \- I anticipate this being about 80% angst, will update when I can but god knows I have other projects

The labs were dark, and smelled of ozone and formaldehyde. It was dark, save for the odd arcing as damaged electrical wires shorted out, and there were peculiar puddles all over the floor from what had leaked from the tanks during the attack. Not the best place to be, at that moment, nor the safest. But it was where their king summoned them, and they did as ordered.

Not a single scientist was prepared for what he ordered next.

“Undo their emotional modifications.”

There was a ringing silence, broken only the sound of fluid dripping somewhere, and the crackle of electricity. They could all scarcely see each other, but they could feel their gazes crossing as their heads turned. Nearly all of them could remember calibrating the princes before they were even born, to the king’s exact requests and specifications. Months and months of work and only a 25% failure rate. It was unheard of. And now he wanted at least part of the work undone.

“As you order.” It was not their nature to refuse.

Months of work, and over two decades of growth, all could be undone in a night. A solution was prepared with haste, three ampoules prepared for direct injection. It was a pale gold color that turned black when shaken. When they presented it to the king less than 24 hours later, he was pleasantly surprised.

“I’ll summon them here. I want to get this over with. I don’t need this black cloud hanging over my head.”

“We would like to remind his highness,” one of their number spoke up, voice measured and careful. “That once the emotional modifications are removed, they cannot be put back in place. They will...well, with regard to emotion, they will be as their brother was.”

The king turned away from them, walking away as he waved a hand carelessly. “Their lack of emotions almost got the entire family pumped full of holes. The entire kingdom could have been lost in a day due to their deficiencies.” 

Deficiencies the king himself had requested, before the princes had even been born. But none dared remind him.

“Don’t tell them what it is.”

Each treatment was delivered to the princes in short order, reinforced with a powerful needle strong enough to pierce their skin. Upon hearing it was a direct order from their father, not one objected. Nor did they ask what the gold liquid being pushed into their arms was, or give it more than a passing glance. Obedient, thoughtless - to a fault.

That would begin to change within hours, and it would all go away. The compulsive obedience, the fearlessness, the casual sociopathy. Perhaps even the recklessness - well, some of it. And the scientists volunteered nothing, not to a single member of the royal family. If there was one thing they did not care for, it was being bored with details.

They gave the injections, designed to bring the dull, muted emotions back into full color. 

And they waited.


	2. Breakfast

Breakfast was an unusually quiet affair that morning, Reiju noticed, keeping her head down as she poked a fork into her eggs. No banter between her brothers, not a word from her father. Even the servants were keeping their distance - coming in just long enough to top off glasses or clear plates, and not a moment longer. The atmosphere itself was thick and uncomfortable, and the sound of cutlery against plates echoed awkwardly in the large room. 

Cutlery was echoing...but as Reiju carefully glanced from plate to plate, it didn’t appear anyone was actually eating. She couldn’t see her father’s plate, from where he was seated above them, but in five minutes of watching, he hadn’t once lifted his fork to his mouth. Ichiji was still putting food in his mouth, but at timed intervals, and he swallowed without chewing. Niji divided the food on his plate into small piles, his head bowed - possibly the quietest Reiju had seen him be. And then there was Yonji.

“Are you not eating today?” Any meal, anywhere, Yonji was the one destroying any plate put in front of him. Regardless of contents, though he had his favorite meals the same as anyone else. Not so today. His food was virtually untouched from how it had been brought out to him. Yonji wasn’t even attempting to fake it like the rest of the family - he just stared off into space, dark circles under his eyes that Reiju had never noticed before. It hadn’t even seemed to register that Reiju had spoken to him. 

She tried again. “Yonji. Aren’t you hungry?”

Still, nothing, but she could feel her other brothers and her father watching now, adding to the tense feeling that filled her with unease. _Clearly_ , something was wrong, something had happened...but Reiju wasn’t sure what, and that bothered her. Nothing escaped her notice.

Very slowly, Yonji turned his head to look at her, and Reiju was taken aback by his expression. He looked tired - no, _exhausted_ \- but it wasn’t a physical sort of tired. His blue eyes, usually hiding nothing behind them, as emotionless as he was, were unreadable and stormy, his mouth pursed into a thin line. Reiju had never seen such a look from Yonji, or any of her brothers from that matter - to be capable of looking so emotionally drained, you had to be able to _express emotion_.

“Yonji…”

Without a word, he stood up, his chair toppling over behind him and slamming to the ground, the clatter echoing harshly as he turned and stormed off, side-stepping servants who’d come to see what had happened, as opposed to shoving them out of his way like he usually did. Reiju sat still, momentarily stunned and confused.

_“What on earth was that?”_

As Yonji left the room, Niji stood up as well, albeit without knocking his chair over and without looking at anyone. His hands were jammed deep in his pockets, his face hidden behind a curtain of bright blue hair. Mumbling darkly to himself, he turned to follow his brother.

Their father couldn’t play dumb any longer. Clearing his throat loudly as Niji went to walk out, he finally spoke up. “Where are you going?”

“Fuck off.” 

The answer wasn’t a complete surprise to Reiju - Niji certainly had a way with words - but it was not his way to mouth off to their father like that. His tone was furious, as it often was, but soaked in a defiance he had never shown. More shocking still, he did not bother to stop or even turn to face their father as he cleared out of the room.

Reiju watched their father’s face flush a deep red, his eyes round under his helmet at having been spoken to in such a way by one of his _precious sons._ “Get back here,” he snapped, the commanding tone heavy in his voice. “Right now, Niji.”

 _“This should be interesting,”_ Reiju thought, still unable to shake the weird feeling that gnawed at her. Niji was bound to their father’s commands, same as the rest of them...and Reiju felt her own eyes go wide as he kept walking, disappearing through a doorway, breaking into a run and disappearing around a corner. _“...What was that?”_

“Father.” Ichiji spoke up suddenly, voice as dull and emotionless as it usually was. He stood up no differently than he did on any other day, stepping away from the table and pushing his chair in as he looked up to their father. “I’m done eating. I have other business to attend to.”

Ichiji was nothing if not always prepared to make an escape.

Their father eyed his eldest son for a brief moment ( _"_ _Why?”_ Reiju wondered, doing her best to sip at her drink and act disinterested) before waving him off. “Fine, fine, go.”

With a small incline of his head, a gesture of deference that they had all been trained to do from an early age, Ichiji turned and left, looking and acting no differently than he did on any other day. Out of the corner of her eye, Reiju watched her brother casually stroll out of the room as though nothing strange had happened at all.

 _“Perhaps whatever is wrong with the other two has spared him,”_ Reiju mused to herself, brain trying to piece together all the strangeness that had transpired in such a short period of time. Yonji not eating, and that face he’d made. Niji not bound by their father’s orders, and getting away as quickly as he could. Their father’s troubled expression made it clear to Reiju that, whatever the matter was, he was aware of it - and he looked guilty. _“Father never looks guilty.”_

Ichiji was fine, though, so...whatever it was, it couldn’t be…

 _“When has he ever pushed in his chair?”_ Reiju thought suddenly, her fork stopping short of reaching her lips. Ichiji didn’t do politeness, not even small gestures like that. He did not hold doors, he did not say ‘thank you’ or ‘please’...and he did not push in his chair.

The answer was simple. He does not, he did not - never before. Reiju felt the hair on the back of her neck standing up, and she darted her eyes back up to her father, who had leaned over in his throne to hiss at a triad of scientists, all of whom were frantically whispering at him, scribbling on the clipboards they hunched over. _“Father has done something,”_ Reiju could’ve guessed that easily enough. _“How foolish has he been this time?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I recall Reiju being unable to disobey their father, per her modifications, so I am making the assumption that the brothers have similar modifications to ensure obedience


	3. Nothing

He couldn’t sit at that breakfast table for a moment longer.

Ichiji was not sure how it was that he’d found reading forms from the labs relaxing, at any point, but he supposed he had. If it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have found himself sitting at his desk in his room, a stack of papers by his elbow, flipping through page after page, reading without  _ reading _ . All about their current supply, manufacturing costs, shortages. Very droll, clipped language. The sort of thing that could serve to lull someone to sleep. It had always been true for him, particularly with how dim he preferred to keep his bedroom, curtains drawn and lamps off. His sister had often made jabs about how funny it was that he, who specialized in light and fire, could only relax in darkness. 

The combination was better than any sleeping pills - and Ichiji had access to many. The injection he’d received the previous day had made him sleepy as well, that gold fluid he’d boredly watched slip into his veins. They hadn’t said it was meant to help him sleep, but he had, longer than he could ever recall having done before. He’d woken up oddly refreshed, with an extra spring in his step. He’d chalked it up to the darkness of his room - as he always had. Quiet. Cool. Silent.

Yet now he found it did nothing to calm nerves he hadn’t known he possessed, offered nothing in the way of soothing. Ichiji couldn’t help feeling a tight knot of stress the longer his eyes rested on the pages, a creeping feeling on the back of his neck - as though he had overlooked something important. The forms weren’t  _ his _ job - he was responsible for none of their contents - but the feeling nagged at him.  _ Look closer. Pay attention. What are you missing? _

_ 54 of Type MB terminated at end of date range XX/XX - XX/XX. 60 replacement units ordered. _

A sentence that Ichiji had read countless variations of, time after time. But this time, the words struck him differently - causing his throat to constrict in a peculiar manner. He snatched his glass off the desk, and found his hands were trembling slightly as he brought it to his lips, the liquor forcing its way down his throat painfully as he tried to swallow. Ichiji hated it. He’d never felt anything like this before and it felt weak. He was not weak.

Ichiji pulled a finger below the line, quietly reading it aloud to himself. “54 of Type MB terminated…” He stuck at the word ‘terminated,’ rolling the word over and over in his head. Terminated.  _ Terminated. _ He’d seen it hundreds of times. Why did it feel weird now? Why did it feel  _ anything _ , to him?

_ Terminated. Killed. _

As the word  _ killed _ sprung to Ichiji’s mind, a fully-formed thought out of nowhere, he felt his stomach contracting uncomfortably, and was acutely aware of tiny pinpricks of sweat beginning to take form on his face. The room was cool, and dark as always - but here he was, sweating. 54 of Type MB...54 clones...54  _ soldiers. _ Niji had gone off on an assignment in the date range specified. He’d said it was a breeze, but there were minor losses, nothing of note.

54 people killed. __

_ Nothing of note _ .

The longer Ichiji stared at the line - reading, truly reading now - the more ill he felt himself becoming. 54 lives gone in service to his family, not even  _ really _ in service to his family - service to the  _ client _ . Lives where that was their only purpose, to fight, to serve, and to die. His father had assured him and his brothers time and time again that living in such a way was all those clones were meant for, all they were good for. "They're not as special as you three," he had bragged, the first time he'd shown them all the labs. "This is what they're made for. Don't concern yourselves with what happens to them."  


_ “Is his reasoning, then,” _ Ichiji thought to himself, trying again to drink and finding it even harder to swallow before.  _ “That some lives matter less than others? That because we play God, it is our right to determine the value of those who live to die?” _

It had been a thought that wouldn’t have phased him even a week ago, a day ago, something he wouldn’t have cared enough about to have even crossed his mind. But this was  _ now _ , and it was  _ real _ . 54 lives that, it had been reasoned, were  _ nothing of note _ because they could be replaced.

The pinpricks of sweat fell, hitting the paper and blooming, distorting numbers and figures the way the phrases themselves distorted the loss of life. 

Ichiji realized then he wasn’t sweating. He was crying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Yes I did go through the trouble of looking up the chapter in the manga where they provide examples of the clone models thanks


	4. Restless

_ “I love you.” _

The words echoed around the undecorated bedroom, with its bare walls and high windows, carrying up to the vaulted ceiling and whispering into nothingness. Sunlight shone in through panes of glass, polished to transparency, casting shadows from the desk, the dresser, and the canopy bed with its dark blue curtains. Legs hung off the edge of the bed, askew, moving slowly to recede back into darkness as more light crept in.

_ “I love you.” _

It was a woman’s voice, not heard for years inside the walls of the castle. Patient and kind, with a warmth to it that even the sunlight couldn’t compare to. Her words were more insistent that time, an urgent undercurrent to each syllable that pleaded to be believed. And just as before, the words reached up against the walls, tapped on the windows, and felt into the darkest corners of the room. 

Niji had heard that voice, and those words, several times before in his life, so long ago he’d assumed it was something he’d forgotten. The words had once come with soft hands in his hair and a tight embrace, and he had remembered hearing a weak flutter of a heartbeat as he was he cradled, looking up at a kind smile and eyes bluer than the summer sky. It had meant so much for her to say it, but Niji recalled it meaning nothing to him. He recognized the words, and he knew their meanings, but it never had the effect the woman had desperately searched his face for, her eyes filling with tears.

He had never once thought of it before now. Not a single time. And now it was all he could think of. Sleep had evaded him the previous night, leaving him tossing and turning and kicking his blankets off of his feet and onto the floor. He’d tried sleeping with his head hanging off the edge, the longer section of his hair falling down and out of his face, and that had just left him staring out at the bright night sky, broken into a grid by the window. Niji had stared at the moon, seemingly as bright as the sun in the darkness, and picked incessantly at the injection site from that afternoon.

_ “I love you.” _

When the insomnia persisted, Niji had abandoned all attempts at sleeping, pacing restlessly and fiddling with the few pieces of furniture he possessed. Pulling open every drawer and leaving it hanging in place, dragging his desk chair from one side of the room to the other, throwing open his closet door and strewing its contents all over the floor. Looking for something and finding nothing. For such an expansive bedroom, he didn’t have much to put in it - the same of his brothers, but not of Reiju. She was the sentimental one, with the insect boxes full of butterflies, the heavy bookshelves, the photographs -

Photographs. Niji had barely considered the thought before fully latching onto it, a creeping sensation itching over his skin as his legs carried him out of his room and into the dark halls beyond. Bare feet sank into thick carpet that had been far too expensive to be as uncomfortable as it was, and every blind corner made Niji jumpy. Being jumpy, and nervous as he was -  _ was this what being nervous was? _ \- made him feel weak. Feeling weak made him angry. And feeling angry made him feel like himself again.

Reiju was missing from her room when he finally got there, but Niji scarcely noticed his sister’s absence as he turned his attention to her bookshelves. Everything was neat and ordered by subject and author, from throwaway paperbacks to heavier encyclopedic tomes. None of it was what he was looking for. His eyes scanned each spine, searching for what he knew Reiju had  _ somewhere _ , growing more and more frustrated when he couldn’t find it. Had she hidden it?

Just when Niji was about to give up - and maybe throw several volumes on the floor in a fit of rage - he saw it laying out, cover-up, on her bedside table. The exact thing he’d been searching for, and the relief was indescribable. He picked it up, flipped through a few pages for what he’d never seen, but knew in his heart existed, and tore the specific page out once he’d found it.

_ “I love you!” _

Half in sun and half in shadow, Niji held the purloined page from the photo album over his head as he laid in bed, studying it as he chewed at the inside of his cheek. The woman in the photo was as radiant as he remembered, with long golden hair and her blue eyes, and that smile. The baby in her arms had her eyes precisely, head dusted with fuzzy blue and a face pinched in the same grumpy expression Niji had worn for almost all of his life.

He tried again, to get it right.  _ “I love you!” _ No matter how much he did it, his voice seamlessly morphing into hers, it didn’t sound right. Niji couldn’t get it to sound the same as when she’d first told him as much. He could copy the pitch, imitate her tone, but it never came out right.

Feeling his frustration mounting, mingling with an emotion that made his chest tighten and his breathing constrict, he lowered the photo to just above his face, focusing only on the woman and ignoring the baby in her arms. He traced the curves of her smile, her full cheeks, and settled on the peculiar look in her eyes. It wasn’t what he believed to be sadness, that wasn’t the case - but he was no expert on emotion. His chest tightened more the longer he studied her, staring at her face, trying to figure out what he was missing.

“I love you.” His voice that time, not hers, and Niji found he’d captured the essence perfectly. That was the feeling that had been missing all along, why he’d struggled. It had eaten at him for hours, plagued his thoughts before he could verbalize what was wrong. The message from a son to his perfect mother, pulled out from deep inside him far too late to matter. 

“I love you. I  _ love you.” _


	5. Practice

_ “Just fuck them up like you always do.” _

There were soldiers gathered on either side of the training space, nearly identical, the whole lot of them, from their black boots to the sunglasses they wore. All of them were smiling, cheering, eager to watch the fight unfold under the beating heat of the sun. It was little more than a training exercise, maybe a few bruises, a fracture or two. Barely enough to kick up any dust. None of it mattered to the soldiers, who were cheering as though they were watching the final match of a championship, or a decisive battle between two formidable foes. Any other day, Yonji would’ve eaten it all up, would’ve basked in it. Something was off.

“You’re doing great, your highness!”

“You’ll be incredible as always, sir!”

It felt almost like hearing it all underwater. Their voices felt far away and distorted, with fluctuating pitch and tone. Like he’d sunk to the bottom of the ocean and was listening to whale calls, hearing sounds without words. Yonji didn’t particularly like it. He stood firmly in place, head and shoulders above his sparring partner in height, staring down at them. He’d done this before, plenty of times - Yonji had a system for precisely how to win. First, he had to take a step forward, and then...and then…

His legs refused to move. Yonji knew other people would describe it like their legs feeling like wet sand, or weighted down, but it wasn’t as though either of those things were capable of troubling him. The closest comparison that made sense to Yonji was the thought of his body having grown roots, digging deep into the soil and weaving a powerful foundation where he couldn’t see. Even  _ he _ struggled with ripping out large trees, roots and all. Difficult but not impossible.

_ “Do it. Move. M o v e.” _ Yonji tried encouraging himself, staring down at the soldier opposite him, who was beginning to look perplexed, tilting their head from side to side as the sun reflected off their dark sunglasses.  _ “Throw a punch. You can do that without having to take a step. Do it.” _

Automatically, Yonji’s arm swung up, moving as though it were a pendulum. His partner flinched in anticipating, bracing himself for a heavy blow. On either side, the other soldiers began cheering and screaming louder, quickly whipping themselves into a frenzy before a single blow could be exchanged. The collective roar was irritating rather than invigorating, and Yonji wished he could tune it out or send them away.

Again, the sounds began to distort, and Yonji closed his eyes as his head throbbed, his scalp aching under the unrelenting heat of the sun. The enthused shouting and cheering was twisting and changing as he listened to it, becoming guttural and terrified. It was the screaming of the injured, the dying, or the grieving survivors who mourned spouses, children, parents. The heat Yonji felt on the back of his neck now wasn’t the sun, but fire - fire from somewhere, from Ichiji, when was it ever not from Ichiji? Reiju’s sickly poison made the air hard to breathe, and he could feel his chest tightening more and more with every breath he tried to take. Panic seized at him, wrapping itself around each limb, constricting his throat the more he struggled to breathe.

“Prince Yonji?” The soldier, his would-be sparring partner, relaxed his stance as he approached him nervously, hands up to show he was not attacking. Even with his sunglasses on, it wasn’t hard to see he was concerned, his brows knit together and the corners of his mouth pulled slightly down in a small frown. “My lord, are you feeling unwell?”

_ “My daughter.”  _ Within the confines of his head, Yonji could hear whispering, faint and cold, flitting in one ear and back out the other.  _ “She was six. She was no threat to you. How could you do that to her?” _

Yonji felt his knees buckling as he slowly knelt on the ground, hands clasping over his ears, fingertips brushing and pressing into his green hair. He massaged his skull as he gritted his teeth, blinking, trying to swat the whispers away without being able to touch them. Yonji knew the voices well enough, one for nearly every assignment he’d taken on in Germa 66. There were no praises from the clients, no cheers from his men, only the sadness of broken people caught in the crossfire.

_ “You are an evil army. An evil commander. Nobody else would kill children in such a way. Smother them, if you must take their lives. A broken neck or a bullet between the eyes. To smash them into a wall as you did…” _

_ “My home was outside the capital. We were no threat to you. And you burned them all, my parents, my husband, my baby. Why will you not just kill me as well?” _

_ “Is any of this supposed to make me feel badly?” _ Yonji had bragged as much at the time, unphased by pleading or wailing. It hadn’t made him feel anything at all, in truth, neither pride nor sadness - just mild contentment that his job was done and he could leave whatever backward kingdom he’d been dispatched to. He couldn’t help but wondered why anyone had bothered trying to appeal to him, ever - what, precisely, was it meant to do?

Whatever the desired effect was supposed to have been, Yonji was feeling something  _ now _ \- in the sun, surrounded by soldiers, all of whom were beginning to detect something was amiss with their prince and commander. It made his pulse race, cold sweat soaking through his clothes as they drew closer to him, murmuring worriedly. Yonji had never felt anything like it, had not felt much of anything at all up until then, and whatever was happening was too much.  _ Far _ too much, for any person.

_ “I just want to know why.” _

“I can’t fucking TELL you why!” The answer burst out of him before he could stop it, tinged in anger and exasperation, and perhaps some sadness of his own. He wasn’t proud of it. He wasn’t even proud of having accomplished his missions perfectly anymore, not in light of all the whispers and grief swirling in his head as he fully collapsed, triggering a minor uproar in the soldiers, some of whom ran off in the direction of the infirmary. “I can’t tell you...why...I don’t know. I don’t know.”

The sun was bright, shining directly in his eyes as he slowly rolled onto his back, oblivious to the baffled and scared men who were bent over him. There was no fighting anywhere around him, no terrified screaming and no fires. But his senses were consumed by it, overwhelmed, and he threw his hands over his face to block it all out.

_“You feel nothing.”_ The whispers were mournful, and almost piteous...of him. Of _him._ _“You feel nothing and you will learn nothing. Maybe one day you will feel something for what you have done.”_

Yonji burst out laughing, mouth still muffled by his hands as it turned from wild, uncontrolled cackles into a drawn-out, painful moan. He couldn’t feel anything, and never had, but his wild heartbeat and constricted breathing told another story. They all wanted him to feel something for what he’d done. It wasn’t fair. Since when had he had any control over anything in his life. The whispers of the past could pick it up with his father - all Yonji had ever done was be the son his father wanted him to be.  _ “Should I feel bad for being who I am?” _

The whispering stopped, hesitating, and Yonji pondered that thought as he slowly spread his fingers open, staring at the sky. It was a beautiful blue, deeper and more saturated than he had ever seen it before.  _ “I don’t have any control over who I am,” _ he admitted to himself, to the whispers, the sky and the sunlight being closed off to him as more soldiers leaned in, throwing worried glances at each other and saying things he couldn’t hear.  _ “I don’t and I never have.” _

_ “ _ _ You do now,” _ a voice answered back - and oddly enough to Yonji, it sounded almost as though he were answering himself. What a strange concept.  _ “You do now.” _


	6. Ordinary

Something was up.

Reiju’s usual information-gathering by way of sneaking, lurking, and observing was completely unnecessary in this instance. Between Yonji’s episode while sparring with his men, Niji openly bursting into her room and stealing a photo of mother from her album, and Ichiji’s stoic silences radiating depression rather than indifference, it was little wonder that even the soldiers were beginning to talk. Her brothers had always behaved in very specific ways, with predictable routines and the businesslike efficiency that father so highly valued. Almost overnight, it seemed all of that had gone right out the window. 

Everyone was talking, from the lowest rank of clone soldiers to the kitchen staff, from the scientists in the lab to the chambermaids who kept a low profile. Nobody dared say a word aloud in the presence of the royal family, but everybody had something to say. And it seemed, for how intimidating the princes could be before, this new uncertainty was more terrifying still. It was the unknown that alarmed every cog in the well-oiled machine that was Germa, slowing its works to a grinding halt in a jarringly short span of time. 

More telling still, their father had not a word to say about it all. Reiju wasn’t a fool - any other hiccup in his plans, any monkey wrench in the works, and he would  _ lose his mind. _ The obstacle would be eliminated without forethought or hesitation, regardless of whether it was an opposing army, a separate kingdom, or one of his own children. That was how her father worked. 

That something was so clearly wrong with Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji, and her father had said nothing - that told Reiju all she needed to know. Even still, she had to try, and she bided her time until she had him in the perfect vulnerable moment.

Outside the castles, away from the rabble of soldiers and the grind of day to day life in the kingdom, she found her father standing alone under a clear sky, the sun shining brightly above him. The air was thick with the smell of freshly-cut grass, and Reiju could smell lavender and honeysuckle in full bloom. His back was turned to her as she silently came up behind him, and around his broad frame, she could see the bright white marble of the gravestone.

_ “Of course he came here.” _ Many in Germa would argue their king was as emotionless and unfeeling as the princes, and for the most part, Reiju agreed. He displayed little remorse for any of his actions, and she couldn’t recall a single time he had actually apologized to anyone. The only tell that he was feeling any remorse, regret, or uncertainty was  _ this _ \- when he came to see her mother.

“Father.” Reiju kept her voice calm and unassuming, as though she had just happened upon her father and hadn’t been silently tailing for hours. She stopped a few feet behind him, hands at her back, head bowed slightly. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“Hm?” He glanced over his shoulder, barely giving Reiju a distracted glance through the eyeholes in his helmet before turning back around. “No. I was just taking a walk for some fresh air and stopped here for a moment. I noticed that the masonry on this memorial was done so well, you can still read the engraving over 15 years later.”

_ “Liar.” _ There had been no walk. He had come directly from the labs to mother. Reiju did not let on that she knew he was lying as she stepped closer to him, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the castle. “Superior work. I had little doubt you would’ve settled for anything less than the best.”

Her father did not respond. Reiju stayed silent for a moment, feeling her hair tickle at the back of her neck as a light breeze passed through. For a moment, the smell of grass and flowers was replaced by the salty flavor of the sea, and when she closed her eyes she could hear waves lapping from some distance away. Usually, even here, she couldn’t hear such a thing - the sea was too often drowned out by the sounds of military drills, shouting, crashing. Today, there was only the sea, and the faint rustling of grass and tree branches.

“Do things seem strange to you as of late, father?”

His shoulder twitched, and he gave an irritated look over his shoulder at her, once more not turning around. Reiju could see his mouth pursed in frustration, but there was a different look in his eyes, a look she had seen only twice before.

_ Fear. _

“No.” He turned back around after a short bark of an answer, and Reiju drew closer as she looked him up and down. Even through his long, thick hair, she could see his body had gone stiff, his shoulders frozen. He usually prided himself on his regal ease, exuding a commanding presence without ever needing to lock up like a toy soldier.  _ This _ was not that - this was more fear and more anxiety. Judge Vinsmoke did not  _ do _ fear and anxiety.

Reiju stopped at his side, gazing up at his face underneath the helmet, her face as calculatingly blank as she could manage. The brassy helmet had been her father’s idea of another status symbol, one of a proud man always ready for battle (though she had personally suspected an issue with his hairline, but that was neither here nor there). Through the eyeholes, Reiju could see her father’s age - the circles under his eyes had a bluish, bruised appearance, layered over more fine lines than she had noticed before. The rest of his face was pale, almost doughy, certainly not a face that commanded fear or respect. His eyes were angled downward, at the base of her mother’s grave.

“Nothing out of the ordinary to you, father?” Reiju pressed gently, learning more from what his body told her than his words. When he continued to stare down at her mother’s grave, Reiju moved her eyes to see what he was seeing, past the inscription in memory of the late queen, down to the grass at the very base. 

There were flowers - not wildflowers from the fields, but taken from the royal gardens outside the infirmary where the queen had spent the last of her days. The gardens had been planted for her, visible from her window - Reiju knew it had been her father’s feeble attempt to make up for the gravest of transgressions against her mother, too little too late. Three separate clusters of pink carnations, clumsily laid, as if by someone unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the gesture of mourning. One had been neatly set in a small glass vase with water. Another had been tied with a too-long length of string. The last cluster held together on its own, the stems crushed together from the tight fist that had brought it to the grave. A small white butterfly was flitting from bloom to bloom, resting and fanning out its wings.

When Reiju finally exhaled again, she realized she had been holding her breath. She listened again to the silence, to the wind, to the waves. After a moment, she looked back at her father again, who continued to stare wordlessly at the flowers at his feet.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?” Reiju repeated, her voice tinged with the very uncertainty and anxiety that had been seeping into every aspect of life in Germa. This had been more than even she had anticipated. This was more than she was prepared for. “Nothing, father?”

Again, there was no answer. A breeze blew again, and the butterfly lazily fluttered away, over the grave and into the sky. The smell of grass and wildflowers was strong again, and the silence from the kingdom was louder than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- pink carnations were a purposeful choice on my end


	7. Insomnia

“If you wanted to talk, there was a better way to get that message across than creeping behind me all day.”

Ichiji had tried to comport himself as naturally as possible, despite every nerve in his body screaming at him that something was _wrong_. He had made it through multiple meals, training sessions, and meetings with potential clients, all with an impassive blank stare on his face. After all, he’d spent years doing just that. Though never before with the constant gnawing in his gut that he couldn’t get away from. Ichiji had never felt anything quite like it, like a peculiar sort of discomfort that wasn’t quite physical pain - it radiated from his core through his whole body, exhausting him easily. Walking was tiring, speaking drained him, and being stalked all day by one of his brothers was even more annoying than it would have been otherwise.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Niji was waiting for Ichiji in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed and arms folded. His hair looked messy, with more than several strands out of place as his trademark style hung limp in his face. Ichiji could see that Niji had buttoned his shirt incorrectly, leaving it lopsided and more open over his chest than usual, and even through the goggles, he had deep, dark circles under his eyes. Not once in recent memory had his twin looked so poorly put together, and it unsettled Ichiji. “How do you intend that I get _any_ message to you if you refuse to be in the same room as me?”

It wasn’t just Niji, of course, Ichiji was avoiding everyone. More than usual, it seemed that nobody could just leave him alone. Reiju had made a point to sit close to him for meals, whereas Yonji was suddenly incapable of doing anything on his own, requiring Ichiji’s assistance. Their father, on the surface, had seemed like the only one who kept him at arm’s length, but Ichiji could see right through that. Father’s questioning gaze followed him closest of all, watching him while he ate and while he trained. Wherever Ichiji stood still for too long, his father followed - and the only solution had been to keep moving, wandering aimlessly from room to room until he could make his excuses and retire for the evening

His father’s absence had been replaced with Niji’s incessant lurking. It had been days, and Ichiji had finally had enough.

“I’m not avoiding you.” Ichiji averted his gaze from Niji swiftly as he slipped his shoes off beside the door, walking right past the bed to close his curtains. Even the last rays of the setting sun were too bright for him, and they disappeared from the room as the rich velvet curtains swung closed over each window. He could feel Niji watching him from where he sat on the bed, and Ichiji clenched his teeth to avoid saying anything. Lately he had been _feeling_ quite a lot, when the norm had been to feel nothing at all, and it compounded his exhaustion. “I’ve been busy.”

Niji snorted, seeing right through his lie. There was a soft _fwump_ of fabric as Niji let himself fall back on the bed. “You’re not busy. You’re doing your best to pretend to be busy.”

“What different does it make to you?” Yonji’s regression into an incapable moron was exasperating enough for Ichiji - if Niji was about to be equally useless, Ichiji was prepared to throw them both into the ocean. With the curtains closed, the room plunged into darkness for a moment before Ichiji could turn on a lamp. He switched on the lamp on his bedside table, casting a soft light that didn’t reach into the deepest, darkest corners.

In that brief moment of darkness, Niji had left the bed and was standing right behind Ichiji when he turned around. Before Ichiji could react, Niji grabbed his wrists and gripped them tightly. Up close, the dark circles were even darker, and Ichiji could feel how clammy Niji’s skin was. The smell of scotch was overpowering, and Ichiji felt as if a weight was sitting in his gut.

“Let go of me.”

“No.” Niji tightened his grip instead. Ichiji could see sweat beading on his twin’s forehead, dripping down and spilling over his goggles. His breathing was frantic, and Ichiji - for the first time, as far he knew - felt a knot tightening in his stomach. The longer he stared at Niji, looking as wretched he did, the tighter the knot became. “Something’s wrong.”

Ichiji struggled to put a name to what he was feeling as Niji stared back at him. He felt just as weak and helpless as he had when reviewing those papers days before, but his focus this time was Niji, not himself. Weakness? Disdain? This feeling didn’t match any of those.

“I’m worried about you.” The words came out on their own in a calm, quiet whisper as more tension crawled up Ichiji’s spine. _Anxiety._ “You should go get some sleep.”

“I can’t fucking sleep,” Niji hissed, flashing his teeth dangerously. Truly, that could have gone without saying - the more Ichiji looked at him, the more he found awry: pants stained and undone, barely held up by his belt; the aforementioned shirt, the pungent smell of alcohol, and those dark circles he couldn’t ignore. A different feeling joined the anxiety gripping Ichiji - _guilt,_ this time. “Every time I close my eyes, it’s all nightmares.”

“You’ve always had nightmares.” _And never once have they bothered you._

Squeezing Ichiji’s wrists tighter still, with hands shaking from the effort exerted, Niji repeated himself. “Something’s wrong.”

He was feeling it too. Ichiji could see. Whatever was wrong, it was wrong with them - with both of them, and possibly Yonji as well. Ichiji could’ve kicked himself for not considering it. All three of them were afflicted, even though he couldn’t put his finger on what the problem was just yet. Nothing was broken, nothing was damaged as far as he could tell. But he could tell that something had changed.

_“We’ve changed nothing but I feel everything.”_

“You need to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep, I’ve just said -”

“Sleep in here.” Ichiji had a flash of memory, a different time in a different place. He remembered a wide, beautiful smile, and kisses on his forehead. There had been a smell of lavender, barely masking the antiseptic, burning smell of powerful medicines.

 _“You’re the eldest of your brothers, Ichiji,”_ his mother had told him. He could recall her voice still, how soft and gentle it had been. _“You need to take care of them.”_

He had certainly failed at that.

Niji let go of his wrists and pulled away, looking at Ichiji with a mix of confusion and suspicion. He couldn’t blame him - Ichiji had never made such an offer before, to anyone. “In here? As in, in your bed with you?”

“My bed is more than big enough. I’ll sleep on one side and you on the other.” There was no reason for Ichiji to think that his presence alone would be enough to help his brother with his nightmares, but his mouth was speaking before his brain could catch up. “If you want, I'll use the longer decorative pillows to form a barrier straight down the center. Perhaps that will make this idea more palatable for the both of us.”

The last time they’d shared a bed had been years and years before, and it had been all four of them - when they had still been four in the first place. Ichiji could barely recall it, there were only the scarcest memories of them huddled together in a heap beneath blankets. Ichiji didn’t remember where or when, but he remembered the feeling.

Safe.

Slowly, Niji seemed to relax, drawing his shoulders back down and crossing his arms again, rubbing his elbows with his palms. A hand darted to his face, pulling his goggles to his chest, and then Ichiji could _truly_ see the exhaustion in Niji’s eyes. Ichiji wondered if Niji had always had their mother’s eyes. “Well. I mean...if you’re certain…”

“Shut up and get in bed.” Ichiji wasn’t sure what had compelled him to offer, but it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest, watching Niji relax in even the smallest way. He turned away, unbuttoning his shirt and setting it on a chair. The grey short-sleeved shirt he wore beneath was soaked in sweat.

_“Something is very wrong.”_

When Ichiji had finished dressing for bed, he found Niji shirtless and curled in a ball on top of the blankets, wrapped around a pillow and clutching it as though he were drowning. He was breathing fast and shallow, and still sweating profusely. His blue hair was lank and dark, soaked to a darker blue from all the sweat outside of a few errant strands that looked almost gold in the dim light. Ichiji, hesitating, set a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he stood beside the bed. Niji’s body jerked, briefly, but he did not wake up.

_“You need to take care of them.”_

Shaking his head, Ichiji switched off the light, plunging the room into darkness again. He made his way to the opposite side of the bed and climbed in, ignoring his bedside table and its drawer full of the pills he’d purloined from their infirmary. Pills that made a dreamless sleep come easily - pills he had found himself swallowing by the handful in the last few days. He stared up at the canopy, the wide swath of scarlet fabric stretched high above him, and began his wait for sleep that he knew would not come.


	8. Tense

Yonji wasn’t sure how long he’d spent in the bathroom that morning. Too long, he was sure, trying to make himself look presentable after a night spent tossing and turning. Twice he thought about getting up and going to see one of his brothers, and twice he stopped short after putting his robe on and opening the door to his bedroom. What could either of them possibly do, aside from asking if he’d gone soft like Sanji? With all the doubts Yonji was already having, he didn’t need more shit thrown on the heap. So he stayed in bed, dozing but never really sleeping.

It wasn’t that sleep wouldn’t come. It was that sleep came with nightmares - though Yonji had to concede they weren’t _really_ nightmares. Memories, really, from past assignments with his siblings. When he was asleep, those memories played in a constant loop, and it was worse than not sleeping at all. He spent hours jerking himself fully awake when he felt himself beginning to drift off, until he could see that it was light enough outside to justify getting back up.

He was exhausted.

His shower didn’t help, though the warm water was soothing on every sore muscle - and it did seem like every single one was tense and tight. He sat on the floor of his shower, staring up at the water, dully wishing he could go back to bed and actually sleep. It was going to be another long day, no better than the last one - he knew that for sure. The more he dwelled on those memories, the more distracted he was while performing the most basic of tasks, be it training drills, reviewing proposals from would-be clients in pursuit of Germa 66’s service, or anything else at all. Yonji had thought he’d hidden it all well enough, but just the other day, Ichiji had snapped and come closer than ever before to _shouting_ at him.

Ichiji didn’t raise his voice. Ichiji never _needed_ to raise his voice, as in-control as he always was. The entire exchange had caught Yonji off-guard and - oddly - made him very keen to avoid his oldest brother, the very thought of another incident making his stomach twist in an uncomfortable manner. Not that Yonji had felt comfortable in a good bit.

Resigned to the fact that he couldn’t stay in the shower _all_ day, Yonji reluctantly turned the water off and stepped out, grabbing the towel he’d thrown over the rack. It had missed the bar entirely, hooking instead on the very end - shaped like an eagle. Father certainly liked the eagle motif; it dominated much of Germa’s castles. Yonji had always been indifferent, on the whole - _it’s just a fucking bird -_ though he had toyed with the idea of getting it tattooed on him at one point. Ichiji had a 1, Niji had a 2...it would’ve been nice to have something different. Even if it was just a bird, it still looked cool.

In the end, he’d settled for a 4, right over one of his shoulder blades. Better not to stand out. He wiped the steam off the mirror with a bare hand, and could catch just the slightest glimpse of it as he moved. Not the most original tattoo idea, but it wasn’t bad. He’d started to look away when an unfamiliar glint caught his eye.

His hair was wet and loose, hanging right at his shoulder as it always did right after a shower, several shades darker than it was when dry. Nothing in his hair glinted under normal circumstances, not even the droplets of water that were still slipping down every strand, dripping onto the marble tile at his feet. Distracted - and almost irritated - Yonji’s hands went to his hair, dividing it into sections and inspecting it in the mirror. 

_“Am I imagining things?”_ He was tired. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

But no, there it was. Yonji wasn’t sure how he saw it in the first place. Nestled between all the other green hairs was a single golden-blonde strand, catching the light in the bathroom and shining brightly. 

It didn’t make sense. Yonji was baffled - thankfully, the first feeling in a while that was familiar to him. His hair had always been green, even from the time he was born. Just as Ichiji’s hair had always been red, and Niji’s hair had always been blue. He assumed it was the same with Reiju and her pink hair. None of them were blonde.

 _“Well, that’s not true.”_ He frowned at his reflection, still holding the strand separate from the others, pinched between fingertips. _“Father has hair just a little darker than this. And I think Mother had hair just about this shade…”_

Yonji wondered what the point was in lying to himself, pretending as if he did not precisely remember the shade and color of his mother’s hair. He remembered how it smelled like the wildflowers Father would have the servants bring her, how warm it was when the sun came through her window and bathed her in its light. She had loved holding him against her chest, his head on her shoulder, and her long hair would hide his face like a curtain. Yonji never talked about it with Ichiji or Niji, and doubted very much that they’d care, but those were memories he’d been trying to dwell on the most as of late. Those were the memories that had compelled him to go see her the other day.

_“Sanji has hair like this.”_

With a quick jerk of his hand, Yonji plucked the strand from his scalp and let it fall to the bathroom floor. 

Not worth dwelling on. Not worth wasting what little energy he had, just to think about it. Yonji brushed his teeth without looking at his reflection - deeply worried that the next glance would reveal another glint, or perhaps two more. When he had finished, he all but ran.

“You look like you’ve felt better.” 

Somehow, Yonji avoided visibly reacting to Reiju’s startling presence directly outside his bedroom door, lurking just inside the shadows where he couldn’t detect her. His shoulders stiffened just a bit, and he felt his heart race slightly. Embarrassing. It was _embarrassing_ , reacting like that just because he hadn’t known his sister was there. Reiju’s face in his castle wasn’t even an unusual sight - she did always seem to gravitate to him more than Ichiji or Niji. “Haven’t slept great,” he grunted at her, not bothering to stop or slow down for her to catch up to him.

It didn’t matter, of course. Reiju had years of experience trailing close behind him, fulfilling the role of irritating older sister - though he had always been careful to never let on that he enjoyed her company. She fell right in behind him, and Yonji knew exactly how she was looking at him without having to see her: mischief in her eyes, with that little half-smile on her lips. “You’re not the only one,” Reiju answered, voice decidedly less smug than what he was used to. “Niji isn’t sleeping either.”

“Oh?” That was news to him. Though, now that he was thinking about it, Yonji couldn’t recall having seen Niji for more than a couple seconds in the last week or so. He gave Reiju no indication he cared as he continued walking in the direction of the main doors. “Sucks to be Niji.”

“He might’ve gotten some sleep last night, for a change.” When they reached the front doors, Yonji found himself momentarily blinded by the sun. It was like rubbing sand into his tired, sleep-deprived eyes, souring his already-bad mood. He wondered if even the nightmares would've been better than trying to ooze through the day half-alive.

Reiju kept right on talking. “I think Ichiji let him sleep in his bed with him.”

Yonji let out a half laugh, passing by soldiers that stood firmly at attention at the sight of the two young royals. “You’re wrong. Ichiji wouldn’t.”

Her words made his stomach knot up again, and there was an uncomfortable pang in his chest. If she was telling the truth...why would Ichiji do that? Ichiji did not _do_ things like that. As far as Yonji - or anyone else - knew, Ichiji did one thing and one thing only: kill.

Niji jokingly liked to throw in ‘and wear sunglasses’ but Yonji didn’t think it was as funny as Niji did.

Regardless, the point was - Ichiji did not comfort. And he didn’t care for his brothers beyond what value they could offer to him. Niji and Yonji had been aware of that their entire lives. If they did anything to slow him down, or get in his way…

Well, they saw firsthand how Ichiji handled Sanji.

“But he did.” Any sort of teasing jest was gone from Reiju’s voice, and there was an odd seriousness in its place. He stopped walking, and she stopped a few feet behind. The soldiers that they’d passed before were only just out of earshot, watching them curiously.

“Hmm.” Yonji tried to keep his voice casual, but that chest pain was back again. His chest hurt, the sun was in his eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. He couldn’t put into words why it bothered him so much. “Interesting.”

He didn’t say anything else, staring off at the main castle as he felt Reiju staring at the back of his neck. Yonji wanted her to _leave,_ to stop talking to him, and go bother someone else. The longer they stood in silence, the worse he felt - and he _truly_ didn’t feel like having another meltdown - 

“I just thought you’d like to know.” Reiju breezed past him, pink hair brushed over her shoulders from the light breeze, cape trailing behind. Yonji felt a palpable sense of relief, followed by shame for wanting so badly for her to leave.

_“I can usually speak so easily to her. What the fuck is going on?”_

“Oh, one more thing.” Reiju turned back around, and she had a warm, wide smile on her face. There was no slyness, and no mocking. “Those blonde hairs you’re getting are so cute. It reminds me so much of Mother.”


	9. Awakening

The nightmares hadn’t gone away, but they had become somewhat easier to bear. Niji couldn’t suss out a reason why.

He woke up at odd intervals - no slow transition to the wakeful world, just a blink of his eyes and he’d be wide awake, staring up at the deep red canopy curtains of Ichiji’s bed. Sometimes he’d be stretched out at the foot of the bed, bent at angles that made his body groan in pain when he tried to right himself. Other times he’d be wrapped around Ichiji, almost catlike in position, holding tight enough to leave marks on his brother’s skin. If Ichiji noticed, nothing was ever said - though Niji couldn’t fathom Ichiji saying anything that would have him feeling much worse than he already did.

However he woke, he handled it the same way. Niji would instinctively reach for the bottle of scotch left close by and sit up just enough to pour more directly down his throat. Initially, when he’d first begun feeling... _unwell_...he had gone through more bottles than he could count just to get any kind of buzz - as was the norm. More and more, it took less and less to achieve the disorientation he craved and the numbness he couldn’t function without. 

Niji supposed that was some kind of bright side.

When he’d finally drank enough to feel that familiar tingling in his head and the buzzing in his skin, the bottle would go back to the floor - pulled close enough to the bed to hide under the bedskirt, or Ichiji would bitch. That accomplished, he’d roll onto his side - curling into a ball as much as his aching body would allow - and slip that photo from under his pillow to stare at it until sleep came upon him once more. Every time he looked at it was like the first time. Gazing at his mother’s blue eyes - _his_ blue eyes - as she cuddled his infant self close made him feel a way he couldn’t explain if he tried.

He hated feeling. And that night, he couldn’t lay in bed by his brother and _feel_ anymore. He took one last, long look at the photo, and tucked it back into the pillowcase.

Careful not to wake Ichiji, who had not moved from the position he’d taken when he’d first climbed into bed - on the opposite side from Niji had laid, flat on his back and facing straight up at the canopy with a grimace on his face - Niji slipped out from under the sheets and the blankets, feet landing lightly on the carpeted floor. The clothes he’d worn the previous day were crumpled where he’d thrown them off, along with his goggles and headphones, but he walked past them and out the door, dressed in a simple grey shirt and blue undershorts. Everyone would be asleep, as Ichiji was - and if someone wasn’t, who would dare make a comment about his attire?

Niji wandered the empty halls for what felt like hours, though he knew it was likely only one. The tall, wide windows were like portals into darkness, and he could see storm clouds swirling ominously in the night sky above. It suited him just fine - the rumble of thunder and battering of rain against the glass would be a welcome distraction from the tempest in his head every time he closed his eyes. He sat down in the hall, staring up at the windows as the storm bubbled and the sky grew darker and darker still. Every flicker of lightning triggered a jolt of anxiety in his belly, but he found it didn’t bother him. It was like being a kid again, running through the halls and having one of his brothers jump out and yell ‘boo!’ at him. A startled feeling, that brief flood of adrenaline. Niji had always loved it. Sanji in particular had always liked -

With the first loud, proper clap of thunder, Niji stood back up and kept walking. He didn’t want to think about Sanji, or the times from before they’d learned Sanji was weak. A failure. Not when he was already feeling like a weak failure himself.

Listening vaguely to the pattering of rain on the walls as he wandered the bowels of Ichiji’s castle, Niji wandered past rooms that he doubted Ichiji was aware existed. Libraries. A ballroom, of some sort. Infirmaries, attached to satellite labs that were offshoots of the large facility in father’s castle - Niji had barely glanced in and seen beakers, needles, medical implements and bottles of pills. One glance had been enough to cause a cold sweat to break out, and for every hair on his body to stand on end. His feet took off before he could register what was happening or where he was going, not stopping until he was at the opposite end of the castle.

Pushing open large, swinging doors, Niji glanced at the large room he’d found himself in. There were large, wall-mounted cabinets, metal shelves filled with containers of dry pastas, herbs, and spices. He could see pots and pans hanging from hooks over an island workstation by a glass-topped stove, and a double sink with a built-in strainer folded just above. A large refrigerator sat at the back of the room, its metal doors briefly lighting up with a fork of lighting just outside the window.

 _“There’s a kitchen in the castle?”_ Niji felt stupid as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Of course there was a fucking kitchen. Why would there be a ballroom and no kitchen? A low grumble in his stomach told him he was in the right place - but it was late, and none of the servants would be awake to cook something for him. Not that Niji particularly wanted to deal with any of the servants anyway. _“They have looked at me differently as of late.”_

Flipping the switch just beside the door, rows of lights came to life on the ceiling, giving the room a less intimidating, sterile appearance than Niji had first detected. The cabinets were handsomely carved from wood in a rich, dark color, and he could see worn patches in the tile from servants who’d walked the same path over and over on a daily basis. For some people, this had to be a familiar place - a comfortable place. The thought eased some of the tension Niji hadn’t realized he was carrying in his shoulders, and he found himself reaching for a small pot from the rack. 

_“If a servant can figure this out, I can figure it out.”_ The rumbling in his stomach was becoming more insistent, almost louder than the rain that was now hammering hard at the windows. _“I’m not an ingrate.”_

He filled the pot with water at the sink, as much water as it could carry. Turning just from the sink to the stove on the right caused a great deal of water to slosh out, soaking Niji’s shirt and shorts. It was an unwelcome shock of cold, but he gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to chuck the pot directly through the window. _“If a_ ** _servant_** _can figure this out,_ ** _I_** _can figure it out.”_

Niji didn’t bother attempting to fill it again, begrudgingly settling for the pot being two-thirds full. He turned the knob at the front to high heat and stood with his arms crossed, waiting and watching for the water to boil.

Several minutes later, he turned the knob back off and turned the _correct_ knob. No sooner had he done it than he realized that he could have simply moved the pot to the burner that was already glowing bright with heat.

Wandering to the metal shelves he’d seen upon initially entering, Niji debated the large containers of dried pastas. That couldn’t be too hard, could it? Even an idiot could do that. Noodles and some butter from the fridge - Niji had seen servants eat it before, when he’d burst in on them slacking on the job. It could suffice for a late night meal. He debated between spaghetti noodles and shorter noodles with a broad, spiral shape, before grabbing the latter bin and dropping several handfuls into the pot. 

So far, so good.

Niji waited, staring straight down into the pot, blinking through the hot steam that clouded his eyes. How the hell was he supposed to know when it was time to dump the water out? Grumbling under his breath, he rummaged in the nearby drawers - hand towels, larger cooking utensils, and then _finally_ he found forks and knives. Fork in hand, he jabbed into the pot, spearing a single noodle and bringing it to his mouth.

Still crunchy. Not good.

He waited. And tried again.

Less crunchy. Still not good.

Gritting his teeth loudly, he tried one more time.

Firm, but not crunchy. That was good enough for him. Turning the burner off, Niji turned the pot back to the sink, almost pouring the entire thing down the drain before quickly remembering to pull the strainer out from where it had been folded. Clouded pasta water streamed through the strainer and into the sink basin, leaving shiny, hot noodles mounded on top of each other. Feeling hungrier and hungrier, Niji rotated the strainer and poured the noodles back into the pot, beginning to feel very smugly about himself.

_“What do we even pay the fucking kitchen servants for? This is easy.”_

Leaving the pot on the now-cool stovetop, Niji opened the fridge, humming tunelessly to himself as he looked inside. There were multitudes of containers, all with different labels and colored tabs on the lids - most of the labels were nigh nonsensical to Niji. Somehow, he found butter, hidden in some kind of secret compartment in the refrigerator door itself - as if he wouldn’t have thought to look there eventually. Breaking a chunk of butter off with his hand, Niji closed the fridge back up and added it to his pot of noodles.

The butter melted easily enough at first, before slowing and sitting, half-melted, on top of the noodles. Niji stirred the pot aggressively, mashing the butter into the noodles with his fork until it had melted entirely. When he couldn’t make out any defined butter pieces anymore, Niji eagerly scooped up a forkful of noodles and shoved it into his mouth.

It wasn’t...bad. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good. Niji chewed slowly, mulling over the taste. Why didn’t it taste nearly as good as what the servants could put together? Was he missing something?

 _“They had cheese on theirs,”_ Niji remembered suddenly, snapping his fingers. Yes, he’d seen it. Some kind of shredded pale cheese. Setting the pot back down, he returned to the refrigerator, throwing both doors open and studying the labeled containers once more. It was then that he realized he didn’t even know the name of the cheese - or any cheeses, for that matter. 

_“I suppose I can just...taste and see.”_ Not feeling particularly enthused - but stomach growling louder and louder with every second - Niji quickly sorted through the containers, setting aside ones that looked as though their contents may be some kind of cheese and putting away the ones that certainly did not contain cheese. Niji had amassed nearly ten containers of maybe-cheeses before finding a container full of finely-shredded cheese that looked most similar to what he’d seen the servants using. A quick taste test seemed to confirm it - and Niji returned to his pot, leaving the other containers sitting on the floor in front of the fridge.

Sticking his whole hand into the container, he sprinkled the cheese over the surface of his pasta, watching the little pieces coat the noodles like winter snow. It was beginning to smell better as well, now, and his mouth was watering. Sitting down on the floor, pot of noodles on his lap, Niji brought another forkful to his mouth and chewed.

It was good. It was _very_ good - much better than it had been before. He closed his eyes as he savored it, tasting the cheese and butter on his tongue before swallowing and letting the warmth spread to his fingertips and toes. Niji ate another forkful, and then another, and another, until the pot was nearly gone. But by then, his stomach was full, and he could barely hear the storm over his satiated groans.

“That was good,” he mumbled, slumping against cabinets and rubbing his swollen belly through his shirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a meal so much - even one as plebeian as buttered noodles. “Why do we even hire servants to do that if it’s so easy?”

It had been more than easy, truth be told. Niji had even enjoyed it, a bit, for how irritating parts of it had been. He’d never made anything for himself before, and couldn’t help but smirk to himself over how well it had turned out. The noodles were perfect - not mushy - and remembering to add the cheese had been a stroke of genius. Perhaps next time he would mess around with those herbs and see if it could taste even better. _“Why haven’t I done this before?”_

_“Royalty mustn't cook.”_

Ichiji’s words, from over a decade earlier, struck him like a lightning bolt. Niji felt his skin go cold, tingling in an altogether different way than what his scotch could evoke, and he looked down slowly at his nearly-empty pot of buttered noodles. The noodles he had cooked.

_“Royalty **mustn’t** cook.” _

When Ichiji arrived in the kitchen minutes later, after being awoken from an explosive shattering sound somewhere beneath his room, the kitchen was covered in broken glass and rainwater, blowing in sideways from the force of the storm. A large metal shelf had been thrown across the room, its contents scattered over the floor, and Niji was huddled on the floor with his back to the stove, arms wrapped around himself as the rain soaked him to the bone, staring at the floor and unable to say a word.


	10. Revelation

All things considered, the labs had bounced back quite nicely following the incident in the New World. Every single facility in Germa had taken damage, some to the brink of complete ruin - though, the more Ichiji thought about it, the more foolish it seemed to him. Why ruin the facilities if your aim is to re-appropriate the technology? It didn’t appear that the Big Mom Pirates had thought out their backup plans very well - which only made him feel more foolish for having walked right into their trap with the rest of his family.

Ichiji was scarcely used to  _ feeling _ at all \- and feeling embarrassed and stupid was rubbing salt in the wound.

The main facility, in the bowels of the largest castle the family owned, had repaired the leaking cloning pods, rewired the damaged electrical systems, and made the entire space as a whole look even better than it had originally. It was hardly the damp, gloomy chamber he’d visited with his brothers such a short time ago. Every surface shone brightly in the improved lighting, and the air was peppered with electrical sounds and indicator lights from the various machinery all around. 

Ichiji, however, remained in the dark, just out of sight beyond the boundary of the lab - waiting in the shadows for the right moment.

This is where it had started. This was the point that he and his brothers had in common, on the last day they had been normal. The three of them had been summoned, given an injection of some kind, and sent on their way. Neither their father nor the scientists had elaborated on its purpose, and Ichiji hadn’t thought to ask. He never had before - why start then?

Sitting outside the door to the lab, hidden from any direct line of sight, Ichiji felt embarrassed and stupid again. He couldn’t think of any other people who would permit a mysterious injection into their bodies without asking  _ some _ questions - even Reiju asked. Every standard inoculation, serum for enhancement purposes, Reiju  _ always _ asked. Usually with him not far behind, quietly mocking her to Niji and Yonji. 

_ If father said we are to do it, who are you to question his orders? _

There was that stupid feeling again. Ichiji’s hands balled up in tight, furious fists, and he shoved them deep into his pockets. His temper had been flaring with a frequency that he found unsettling - he was the calm, reserved brother. Grace under pressure, father had always said. Not a hothead like Niji, Yonji - or even Sanji. “A natural born leader,” Judge had boasted, the irony of the statement no longer lost on Ichiji. “Calm and decisive.  _ You _ are the pride of Germa.”

Inside the lab, barely audible over the other sounds, Ichiji can hear some of the scientists murmuring amongst themselves.

“...No way the princes aren’t suspicious…”

“...Heard the king, mustn’t breathe a word…”

So whatever it was, his father had played a part. Ichiji was torn between being surprised, and being anything but. Nothing happened in Germa without his father knowing. But why would his father be to blame for whatever was happening to them now? Niji was drinking himself to sleep every night, and had inexplicably destroyed Ichiji’s personal (well, ‘personal’ in that it belonged to him, not that he  _ used _ it) kitchen a week earlier. Yonji was skipping training days and military drills, and had taken to shutting himself up alone in his castle. Whatever had happened, it had been done at his father’s behest - there was no doubt. But Ichiji couldn’t passively watch as it ate his brothers from the inside.

To say nothing of what it had done to him.

“...We warned him, they will be as their brother is…”

Standing otherwise completely still in the shadows, Ichiji felt his eye twitch.  _ We warned him. _ ‘Him’ likely meaning his father. Their scientists didn’t answer to anyone else, but nor did they routinely provide “warnings” for treatments administered to him and his siblings. Not to the best of Ichiji’s knowledge. There was a flash of memory - him sitting, passively watching the plunger of a needle pressing a bright gold liquid into a vein in his arm. The day before everything fell apart.

_ They will be as their brother is. _ That was also self-explanatory, though Ichiji felt himself growing angrier and angrier as he mulled over it. They meant Sanji. He was the only one ever counted separately from the rest of them, the only brother seen as an individual. Sanji wasn’t as strong as them (though perhaps maybe Yonji - Ichiji remembered his youngest brother’s dented face following a tiff with Sanji rather fondly), but had surprised them all in the New World. His biggest downside, really, was how  _ soft _ he still was. Ichiji had been disappointed to see that Sanji was still as emotional and weak as ever, in that regard. 

Though perhaps Sanji being soft was the only reason Ichiji was still breathing. The only reason any of them were still breathing, still working, still hovering outside doorways like roaches. Those emotions on Sanji’s behalf had saved their collective skins, but there was little as undesirable, to Ichiji, as the suite of feelings his little brother constantly fell sway to. And now, perhaps, Sanji was not the only one.

_ They will be as their brother is. _

Ichiji wasn’t sure how many times that line repeated in his head before he finally snapped, before the simmering anger just below the surface boiled over. From that point, everything had happened in slow-motion, though Ichiji couldn’t bring himself to stop it. There was the clicking of his shoes on the tiles of the lab, walking slowly enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Then his eyes were scanning his surroundings, looking for the head scientist - an unfortunate-looking man, with both a rotund body and scrawny legs. The man spotted him first, and rushed to him hastily - better to never keep the eldest prince and future king waiting. Once he was within reach, Ichiji had reached a hand out, snatching at his throat and slamming him into the ground. The force shook the entire lab as the tiles cracked from the impact, and Ichiji pressed one knee into the man’s chest to keep him in place.

“Prince Ichiji.” How he was able to still breathe was a wonder, and his hands clawed at his throat over Ichiji’s tight grasp. Behind his goggles, Ichiji could see his eyes bulging. “Prince Ichiji...please, your highness, I don’t -”

“What did you do to us?” Gone was Ichiji’s  _ grace under pressure, _ replaced by a voice that quavered with anger. What self-control he still possessed was going towards preventing the outright strangulation of the dumpy man pinned to the floor. Ichiji's red hair, usually well-groomed and styled  _ just so _ , had collapsed into his face and fractured his line of sight. Inconvenient, but he could still see the terror in the man's face. “You will tell me. You  _ will _ tell me.”

Around him, the lab had broken into a panic, and Ichiji could hear lab assistants running for the door. He lifted his head, but did not turn around. 

“Nobody leaves this lab until I have answers. Or none of you will leave it alive.”

The frantic movements stopped immediately, but Ichiji could hear their stressed, rapid breathing mixed in with the whirring and beeping of machinery and gasping of the man he was still choking. It was making his head hurt, and there was a throb of tension just behind his eyes. 

“Prince Ichiji.” Ichiji wanted answers, but every word from that scientist’s mouth made him want to clamp onto his throat even tighter. “I don’t know what you -”

“Your father requested we remove specific modifications from you and your brothers, Prince Ichiji.” Somewhere behind him, Ichiji could hear one of the lab assistants speak up. Their voice was thin and reedy, and terrified. Likely only speaking the truth out of fear for their life. “His royal highness stated...the deficiencies you and your brothers possessed nearly brought Germa to ruination at the hands of Big Mom.”

“What deficiencies?” Ichiji wasn’t sure how he was able to ask without shouting. It was a stupid question anyway, one he had figured out the answer to already, but having it confirmed would mean something very different than his personal speculation. “We don’t have deficiencies.”

_ You are the pride of Germa. _

“You lacked emotions. The three of you.”

The use of past tense was like a blow to the gut, a sharp impact that disrupted Ichiji’s breathing. He released the man’s throat as he pulled away slowly, wiping both hands on his pants as he got to his feet again. Damp stains smeared over the white fabric, leaving dark patches, but his hands still felt wet and sticky. Ichiji brought his hands to his face and found that his palms were sweating profusely, and he couldn’t stop trembling. Whether it was rage or something else altogether - well, he wasn’t sure anymore. Deficiency? How could lack of emotions be a _deficiency_ when Sanji's emotions were part of what had led him to be the family failure in the first place?  


“That injection,” Ichiji spoke softly, his head and his chest both veritable maelstroms. His pulse raced, sweat soaked his clothes, and he longed to be anywhere else. Anywhere but in this godforsaken lab, surrounded by his father’s yes-men, directly in the aftermath of an outburst that had him wondering who he even was anymore. Yonji smashed men into the floor. Niji smashed men into the floor and then some. 

Ichiji did not.

“Yes, your highness.”

“Emotions.” Ichiji shakily twirled his hand in the air as he tried to think. “Like, ah. Like…”

“Like your brother.”

No need to specify which one. Ichiji could feel rage burning at him, raging like a wildfire as his mind raced through the implications of what he was being told. Feelings were all well and good for Sanji, the failure. Sanji, who had  _ years _ of experience with that nonsense. Sanji, who was not there to watch his brothers fall apart as dams burst inside them. No warning, no preparations, no choice. How was Ichiji meant to protect Niji and Yonji against something inside their heads? He could scarcely protect himself now.  


Sucking in an unsteady, shaking breath, Ichiji ran his hands through his hair and pulled hard, covering his eyes for a moment against the dozens he felt watching him. After a moment, he pulled them away again, pushing red locks off to the side, and saw a small flash against his palm. Momentarily confused, Ichiji ran a finger over his palm, uncovering the culprit - a strand of hair that had been pulled from his head, a warm shade of golden blonde.

Another breath as he registered the sight. And then the world sank into slow-motion once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This may or may not be going on brief hiatus for the month of October since I'll be doing OTPtober mini fics and getting married and all that. I say 'may' be going on hiatus because there's a high chance I'll get seized by inspiration and throw more up in my free time. Thanks!  
> \- Big thank you to @museflight for all the help and ideas for where to take this fic, and I'm (kind of) sorry for the cursed content I put on your timeline.


	11. Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was going to take a break for October but I didn't do the OTPtober prompts today so I figured I needed to write _something_. Also I've been mulling over this scene in particular for a bit so better out than in.

“Did you see what happened to the lab?”

“Didn’t see it. Definitely heard it.” Niji was acting cagey, far more cagey than Yonji had anticipated. He hadn’t stopped moving at all since being cornered in his neglected, ignored bedroom. Yonji had followed him for hours, waiting for the right moment to close in on him - his brother had done more than a good enough job at avoiding him. Confusing in every way, considering Niji had never been one for avoidance. If he wanted you to fuck off, he told you so. Yonji watched him as he paced restlessly by the window, his movements odd and jerky, a ball of clean clothes held tightly to his chest. “I suppose the wiring wasn’t up to snuff as father claimed it was.”

Yonji turned away, pretending to busy himself with something in his pockets. He wished he’d had the foresight to actually _have_ something in his pockets, outside of crumbling lint and a gum wrapper. “I heard it was Ichiji.”

“You heard wrong.”

He was glad Niji couldn’t see the way his brow furrowed at those scoffed words. For all his vices - for all _their_ vices, really - the brothers did not lie. There were plenty of reasons for other people to lie, not one of which mattered to them. They never needed to shy away from the results of their actions (Yonji had heard them referred to as ‘consequences’ and couldn’t stop thinking about it), they used force - not words - to get what they wanted, and it was not their way to spare someone else's feelings. But here Niji was, lying. To him, of all people. 

Yonji had seen the lab - or the bombed-out shell of what remained. The entire area in the castle was closed for emergency repairs with absolutely no entry due to the danger - but who was going to turn away a member of the royal family? He hadn’t lingered long. Yonji had not liked the scorched appearance of the walls, the melted snarls of metal, the coppery taste of blood in the air. It had churned bile up into his throat and caused sweat to break out all over his body. 

Regardless - even if he didn’t know what damage from an electrical fault looked like, Yonji had decades of knowing what Ichiji’s handiwork looked like. That was the explanation for the cratering damage he’d seen on the floors, against what remained of the walls. 

He didn’t bother pointing any of that out to Niji, who seemed dead-set on wearing a groove in his dusty carpet with his continued, irritated pacing. Even across the room, Yonji could smell him. His once obsessively-groomed brother reeked of both fresh liquor and stale drink, oozing from every pore on his body. Every article of clothing he wore looked as though it hadn’t been washed in weeks, and even the clean clothes he held looked...less than fresh. 

“I don’t think I heard wrong.” Yonji turned back to Niji, who had stopped pacing to grimace at him, teeth bared. It struck him that, far from being intimidating, it looked more defensive than he’d noticed before. His brother’s posture - hunched, rounded in on himself - didn’t help things. “I think Ichiji did and I think you _know_ that he did it.”

“I remember when I was young and an idiot like you,” Niji muttered, scratching aggressively at his scalp as he turned to look out the window. As his fingers mussed through his blue hair, Yonji could see long golden streaks. Brighter than father’s hair was, much closer in shade to mother’s hair. Almost the exact same shade of blonde as the hair that Yonji had been plucking off his head one by one every morning, frustration mounting as he found more and more of them every day. 

“You are _15 minutes older than me.”_ Dumb barb or not, Yonji hated constantly being treated as though he were a baby. With Reiju, at least it made _sense._ Niji muttered a response and tried to push past him, and Yonji stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever touched Niji, in any sort of way.

Niji recoiled like a wounded animal, baring his teeth again. “Don’t touch me.”

“What is going on?” Yonji felt disquieted by the demand in his voice. Even if their father saw him and Niji as equals, it had always been clear - to him at least - that Niji ranked above him in the familial pecking order. _Hadn’t the age comment been a reminder of this very thing?_ Yonji did not make demands of Niji. “You’re acting weird. Something’s...weird.”

The best explanation? Not really. Clear, in any way? Again, not really. But it didn’t seem as though Niji needed a more in-depth description of what his brother meant, judging from the wild-eyed look Yonji caught before Niji twisted away again. “Nothing is weird. If anything is weird, it’s because something is weird with _you._ Don’t drag me into this.”

“If nothing’s wrong then why have you been staying with Ichiji for the last few weeks?” While Niji had not exactly gone to great lengths to hide the fact that he was practically living out of their eldest brother’s castle, Yonji was the only person - that he knew of - bold enough to bring it up. He’d tried to speak to Niji alone multiple times since his talk with Reiju, had waited for his brother on and off to try and intercept him. Most days, Niji didn’t come back to his own castle - leaving Yonji frustrated and returning to his own long after dark, an unusual feeling in his chest.

 _Loneliness._ Reiju had called such a feeling _loneliness._

“Ichiji is _my_ twin.” Yonji couldn’t miss the pointed emphasis on Niji’s part as he began stalking down the hallway, shoulders hunching further and further forward, head angled towards the ground. Undeterred, Yonji followed, easily catching up with Niji’s stumbling footsteps. “We’re spending time together because it’s what twins do. It has nothing to do with anything being weird. I would say you should bond with your own twin, if that failure wasn’t playing servant on a pirate ship somewhere.”

That hurt, more than Yonji wanted Niji to see. They weren't supposed to be one set and a spare. They were four - they had always been four, the four of them together, all of them a complete set. He was glad his brother was still facing away, stomping through halls and downstairs, still followed closely. Before he could stop himself, he watched his hands grabbing Niji by both shoulders, forcefully spinning him around and pinning him to the stone wall, the impact of his skull making a sick noise that made Yonji’s insides begin to roil and twist once more. So he was going to be bothered just by _sounds_ , now? Nightmares and hallucinations weren’t enough?

“How can you still call him a failure?” His mouth started running before his brain could catch up, and Yonji could scarcely believe the things he was saying at Niji glared at him, blue eyes narrowed, underscored with dark rings. The corners of his mouth pulled down farther and farther in an expression of fury. “He’s the only reason we’re still alive. Sanji didn’t have to save any of us but he did. After everything we’ve done to him, he saved us. _We’re_ the failures. Not Sanji. Stop being a fucking idiot and stop treating _me_ like an idiot by pretending everything is fucking fine!”

“NOTHING is wrong!” Niji exploded back, shoving Yonji off of him with more force than expected, his wadded-up clothes flying up in the air. The smell of booze permeated the air, to a point where it was nearly overwhelming, and Yonji took several steps back beyond where his brother had shoved him. Seething in anger and drawing breath in angry hisses, Niji advanced on him, looking very menacing indeed despite their considerable size difference. “The only problem here is YOU, and your impassioned defense that FAILURE is proof enough.”

Yonji could feel his stomach tightening as Niji drew closer, and he stepped back again. He was beginning to feel dizzy, his vision distorting. His neck had been dry moments before, and now it was slick with sweat. Whatever this feeling was, _he did not like it._ “I wasn’t defending him.” His voice was scarcely a whisper. “I was just -”

“You want to know what _I_ think?” Niji stopped short, thankfully, still standing close enough for Yonji to see how truly unwell he really looked - his hair, mixed blue and gold, looked as though it hadn’t been washed in weeks. His lips were in a sorry state as well, chapped and peeling, with bloody patches where he had bitten them - pulled taut over a furious show of teeth. “I think whatever the reason is that San - _that failure -_ is the way he is, it affected you too - and you just did a better job hiding it until now.”

“I’m not like Sanji.” Oddly, that statement didn’t instill the confidence in Yonji that it once had. He couldn’t fight anymore, not even training exercises - not without endless nightmares, cold sweats, and fits of vomiting. Even Sanji could fight. Sanji had beaten him the last time they’d gone head to head, hadn’t he? And that was when Yonji still felt normal. _“I almost wish I was like Sanij.”_

He was glad he didn’t speak those words out loud.

Unfortunately, Niji seemed to be thinking at least somewhat on the same length as Yonji as he sneered at him, turning away once more. “You’re right. He’s stronger than you, isn’t he? He left you with a dent in your head last time. That just makes you a bigger failure. You only ever seemed impressive in comparison to him, but that's gone out the window now, hasn't it? Ponder that, and leave me alone.”

Yonji’s mouth, again, spoke out of turn. “Not sure where you get off calling me the failure when you can’t sleep unless you’ve got Ichiji there to keep an eye on you. And at least I still bathe.”

The sentences had barely come out of his mouth before _he_ was shoved roughly into the wall, a slender forearm pressing tightly against his throat. Niji’s face was a hair’s breadth from his own, his features contorted and livid. The longer Niji stared, the harder he leaned into his forearm, and Yonji could feel himself freezing in place - unable to fight back as his body locked up.

“Don’t you _ever_ ,” Niji hissed, voice low and dangerous, imbued with the choking smell of alcohol. “Presume to speak to ME in such a way. Sort out your own problems - and if you approach me again, I will make sure Ichiji and I both cast you aside like we did that other failure.”


	12. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm sorry this took so long, I have been _exhausted_ lately.  
> \- If you read my other fics, I promise those are slated for updates soon too.

“Are you going to say something to either of them?”

This wasn’t how Ichiji had anticipated spending his day. The moment he’d climbed out of bed, gently unwrapping a fast-asleep and shivering Niji from around him, he had scarcely stopped moving. He’d gotten dressed, grabbed food he could eat while walking, and had wandered aimlessly from castle to castle, room to room, pretending he didn’t notice the servants and scientists alike scattering at the sight of him. Once, it would’ve brought a thin smile to his face to see how his presence intimidated them. But now it gnawed at him, coating him with a sticky sensation of guilt that he couldn’t wash off.

He had passed through the royal gardens, running his hands through jasmine, roses, lavender and lilies. The bees didn’t flee, nor did the small white butterflies that tried to land on his shoulders when he slowed down for the briefest moment. Ichiji had taken a break for a moment there, sitting on the ground and hidden from sight by the plants. He’d carefully pulled the finer-looking flowers from their roots, sitting in the shadow of that building he hadn’t visited in years. The one that smelled like medicine and industrial cleaner. 

Ichiji didn’t like thinking about it. He didn’t linger. A butterfly that had been resting on a stem he’d plucked fluttered up as he got to his feet, landing briefly on his nose with a touch lighter than any kind of kiss.

“Are you listening?”

“I am listening.” From behind the lenses of his sunglasses, he kept darting his eyes over to his small cluster of hand-picked flowers, hidden from Reiju by a handy patch of tall grass and weeds. He had hoped to visit his mother sight unseen. Like he had been doing for...well, he didn’t know how long he had been doing it, at that point. A while. Reiju had thrown him through a loop, and he’d hastily thrown the flowers aside when he saw her pink hair coming. 

He hoped the flowers weren’t damaged. He hoped his mother would like them anyway.

Reiju raised her eyebrows, giving Ichiji a look he didn’t like. She always had a look in her eyes of knowing more than she let on, despite her practiced act of indifference. Ichiji had seen through it even back when they were children. Oh, sure, she’d laugh at Sanji with the rest of them, but it was always only a front. Who else was visiting Sanji in the dungeon, tending to his wounds and changing his bandages? Their father didn’t bother with much beyond feeding him. 

Ichiji, even before...what had been done, kept Reiju at arm’s length. Anyone who could live years at a time being convincingly duplicitous was not someone to be trusted. Even now, it was not any different.

“What are you going to do?”

“What is it you would have me do?” Ichiji kept his voice cold and measured, as was custom when Reiju made the mistake of speaking to him. He hoped it was an appropriate mask for the unease and anxiety he felt at hearing that Niji and Yonji were fighting. Particularly at hearing how Niji had handled himself. “They are not my responsibility.”

Strangely, Reiju didn’t have a response to Ichiji’s predictable answer. She fixed him with a long, curious stare, before shaking her head and walking off, cape trailing behind her, flecked yellow and green with pollen. The moment she was out of sight, Ichiji snatched the flowers back up, checking them over carefully as he continued on his way. A few petals had rumpled, and he thinned his lips as he tried to smooth them. Careless.

As his mother’s grave came into sight, Ichiji felt a renewed wave of anxiety as he realized someone else was already there, sprawled out on the grass. Ichiji’s back straightened in indignation -  _ who was laying over his mother so casually? - _ until he saw the blue hair and the glint of goggles in the sunlight. A well-timed breeze brought the unmistakable scent of old booze to his nose.

_ Oh no. _

“Who’s there?” Niji sat up with a start, goggles slipping down his face as he jerked his head around. When he saw Ichiji (flowers behind his back), he quickly got to his feet, slipping repeatedly on the grass and almost falling right back down. To Ichiji’s relief, Niji did not seem keen on getting too close, remaining just in the shadow of their mother’s gravestone. “Ah, it’s just you. I was just taking a nap to clear my head.”

“Seems a peculiar place for a nap.” There was little Ichiji could do to mask the displeasure in his voice. If Niji was going to insist on spending his days drinking and sleeping, he could at least do it in the privacy of either of their castles, out of view of the servants and soldiers - and certainly not around their mother. “I’d imagine you’re resting up after your...earlier exchange?”

Even in shadow as he already was, Ichiji watched Niji’s face darken further before he turned away, hands jammed deep in his pockets. “Did Reiju rat me out? That bitch. Though Yonji is a bigger bitch for running and tattling to her like a child.”

“I believe you were overheard by a  _ considerable _ number of servants. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that word made it back to Reiju that way.” Reiju had, in fact, mentioned hearing about the fight directly from Yonji, but Ichiji did not feel right in letting Niji have the satisfaction of knowing that. Grimacing, he shifted the flowers from one hand to the other, still concealed from sight. “You cannot treat Yonji the way you did.”

Niji glanced over his shoulder at Ichiji, a sneer on his face. “I’ll treat him however I please, if he wants to walk around spouting the nonsense he was throwing at me. Talking about  _ that failure.” _

Ichiji tried to not let the mention of Sanji get under his skin as he breathed in sharply through his nose. “You cannot treat Yonji the way you did,” he repeated, voice cool and detached.

“I’m older. I’ll speak to him however I like.”

“We’re quadruplets.” Brothers, meant to support each other and be together. How could Ichiji ever hope to get that message through to Niji? None of them were doing well, not with what their father had thrown at them this time, but nobody seemed to be doing quite as badly as Niji. Ichiji remembered that night, in the kitchens, with the rain and broken glass and Niji shaking on the floor. Was he supposed to pretend that he just hadn’t seen any of that? “The age difference between you two is a matter of minutes; no different than the gap between you and I. You  _ cannot _ treat Yonji the way you did.”

Quickly becoming irate, Niji stormed up to Ichiji, bringing with him the stench of alcohol and a cloud of despair that Ichiji had become accustomed to. His teeth were bared, brow furrowed, but Ichiji found his appearance more pitiful and sad than intimidating. He already knew Niji was bathing infrequently, skipping meals, and drinking with alarming frequency - he needed more help than Ichiji believed for a moment that he was capable of providing. 

Sighing, Ichiji took a step back.

“You didn’t hear the garbage he was blubbering.” Turning away once more, Niji began pacing, shoulders bent and face turned towards the ground. In the sunlight, Ichiji could see gold sparkling on his head, interspersed with the blue. “Throwing out wild accusations of  _ you _ having destroyed the laboratories -”

Ichiji flinched. If Yonji had, at any point, visited the burnt-out shell of what remained of the facility, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to recognize his eldest brother’s handiwork. Thankfully, Niji did not notice.

“- claiming that I am acting ‘weird’ -”

Ichiji was unwilling to let that one slide, and his mouth tilted into a crooked, humorless grin for a fraction of a second. A reflex he would’ve found unnatural before that moment. “Ah. And you aren’t acting weird at all.”

Niji said nothing, though he did cease pacing, rocking in place for a moment as he pulled his hands from his pockets and slowly wrapped his arms around himself. “- whining about something being strange lately, with him - with all of us. Talking out of his ass. The biggest sign was his defense of  _ that failure -” _

“He has a name.” Ichiji gripped the flowers in his hands tightly, even as his voice stayed soft. “And if I remember correctly, he’s the only reason we are all alive right now.”

Snorting, Niji began pacing again, rubbing his upper arms through his soiled white shirt. “Did you and Yonji jointly agree to try and rehabilitate that failure’s reputation? Hm? To get a rise out of me?”

“Nobody has to put any effort into  _ anything _ to get a rise out of you.” Ichiji was feeling tired, very tired, and the twinge of sadness in the pit of his stomach only grew as he watched his twin pace restlessly. “It’s only the truth. Everyone saw it. Little point in denying it, I would think.”

“Dumb luck!” Niji was not yet done protesting, and Ichiji could see the muscles in his jaw beginning to twitch. “We overshot, we fell into a trap - Sanji got lucky in pulling that off, even taking his deficiencies into consideration -”

“We’re the deficient ones.” Ichiji spoke before he could give it a second thought, smile on his lips again at Niji’s coincidental use of the one word he couldn’t stop thinking about. “And isn’t that interesting, Niji? Sanji saved us and father came to the conclusion that  _ we _ are the deficient ones.”

Ichiji thought it was funny, but not in the way that previously-funny thing had made him laugh. It was less of a tingling over his skin and more of a shiver down his spine. Another shiver came when Niji stopped dead in his tracks, looking again to his twin. This time, his jaw was unclenched, his mouth slack.

“What do you mean by  _ that?” _

Fear.

“Sanji’s emotions saved our lives, one way or another.” Ichiji had certainly mulled over it long enough. What else  _ besides _ emotions would’ve led Sanji to save them, after how they had treated him in the past? “In saving us, he saved Germa. We - as we are…”

_ As we  _ **_were_ ** _. _

“...would’ve led to Germa’s destruction. Father couldn’t have that, I’d imagine. So now we stand on an even playing field with -”

“ _ Don’t say his name,” _ Niji hissed, teeth clenched one more. There was a wildness to his expression, a frantic tensing in his muscles. It unsettled Ichiji - even for how much the admittance was a weight off his shoulders. “And don’t waste my time with your theories. I’m sure  _ Yonji _ would love to hear -”

“Remember those strange injections from a few weeks ago?”

Niji fell silent, and for a moment Ichiji heard nothing but the breeze over the meadows and the odd chirping of birds - beyond his own heartbeat, of course. He could see Niji thinking to himself, shoulders hunching further and further before the meaning of his brother’s words dawned on him. What being on an even playing field with Sanji meant - for all of them.

Ichiji had expected...something. A rebuttal, an incensed explosion. Rage, denial, sorrow. He had certainly cycled through each of those feelings in turn when he’d found out, each feeling more raw and visceral than the last as emotion gripped him like a ragdoll. At the very least, he’d assured himself it made  _ some _ kind of sense to react like that - though the destruction of the lab had maybe been overkill. 

Niji did nothing of the sort. For the first time ever in his life, Ichiji watched Niji turn and run, quickly becoming a stumbling blur as he hurried to put as much distance between the two of them as he could. No words, no looks - he was just gone. 

_ He’ll be fine once he pulls his head out of his ass. _ Ichiji thought it, even if he didn’t believe it. Niji hadn’t been “fine” in a while, and only seemed to get worse with each passing day. His sleepless nights had recently become marked by hours of his younger brother crying - first, quiet whimpering that he tried to muffle with blankets. Then, loud, choking sobs as he clung to Ichiji from behind, gripping his shoulders as though he were drowning. When he finally drifted off to sleep, it was sniffling, pained moaning that was more devastatingly sad than the earlier stages. 

Whatever was wrong with his brother, the pain was somewhere Ichiji could not reach. And Niji needed comfort he couldn’t provide.

Pulling out the tightly squeezed flowers from behind his back, Ichiji knelt down in front of his mother’s grave, placing them as carefully as he had the first time - though this time, he lacked anything to tie them all together. He sat down on the ground, back to the headstone, staring up at the sky as another butterfly happened past.

Maybe time with his mother could help him figure out how to help his brothers.


End file.
